


The Annual 'Wet Shirts for Charity' Event

by tolieawake



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: For Charity, M/M, One-Shot, and kick butt, and then Portland Ships Renhardt, basically the guys just ogle each other, because that's what they do, wet shirt competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8535409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolieawake/pseuds/tolieawake
Summary: "The Mayor sent through an inter-departmental memo about the annual ‘Wet Shirts for Charity’ event," Wu explained. "The Mayor has decided that, rather than being strictly voluntary as it has been in previous years – this year’s event will need to showcase some talent from each of the various departments.”
Nick groaned.
Hank laughed.
“Who’s the unlucky soul lumped with that?” Hank wanted to know.
Nick wanted to punch him. Wasn’t Hank meant to be a detective? None of their colleagues (save Wu) would meet their eyes, which meant…
“Congratulations,” Wu said, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “A vote was taken – to determine who would best represent our fair department. It was unanimous,” he added.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TeamRenhardt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamRenhardt/gifts), [wesen90](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wesen90).



> Once more, the lovely @TeamRenhardt and @wesen90 have inspired me by chatting all things Renhardt over on twitter. And sending me photos. And gifs. And ideas. This is the result.

There was a strange kind of tension in the air as Nick and Hank entered the bullpen. Glancing around, Nick noticed their colleagues all suddenly finding themselves busy, refusing to meet his eyes. He turned to Hank.

 

“Are you seeing this?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” Hank agreed. He frowned.

 

“Well, well, well, look who’s here!”

 

Turning, both detectives saw Sergeant Wu entering behind them. The large grin taking over his face was hardly reassuring.

 

“Why do I have the feeling we’ve missed something?” Nick asked. He could feel the tension settling beneath his skin, a kind of nervous prickling. He was a grimm, the nightmare of the wesen world – he shouldn’t be feeling nervous just because his colleagues obviously knew something he didn’t.

 

“Ah,” said Wu, “but see, that’s the beauty of it. You _won’t_ be missing out.”

 

Nick shared a glance with Hank. That kind of glee on Wu’s face was never a good thing.

 

“And,” he prodded eventually, when Wu just continued to grin at them.

 

“Well,” said Wu, “it’s like this. The Mayor sent through an inter-departmental memo about the annual ‘Wet Shirts for Charity’ event.” He paused.

 

Nick and Hank shared a horrified glance. Wu hadn’t really explained anything yet, but both felt they had a terrible feeling where this was headed.

 

Wu’s grin, impossibly, broadened. “That’s right,” he said, practically rubbing his hands together in glee. “The Mayor has decided that, rather than being strictly voluntary as it has been in previous years – this year’s event will need to showcase some talent from each of the various departments.”

 

Nick groaned.

 

Hank laughed.

 

“Who’s the unlucky soul lumped with that?” Hank wanted to know.

 

Nick wanted to punch him. Wasn’t Hank meant to be a detective? None of their colleagues (save Wu) would meet their eyes, which meant…

 

“Congratulations,” Wu said, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “A vote was taken – to determine who would best represent our fair department. It was unanimous,” he added. As though things weren’t bad enough, Nick thought.

 

Hank continued to laugh.

 

Nick wondered if Monroe would help him bury the body.

 

“You know,” said Nick, “somehow, I think I’m going to be off sick that weekend.”

 

“Nice try.” Glancing up at the Captain’s voice, Nick grimaced to see the smirk twitching at the edges of Renard’s lips. “I’m afraid your name’s already been put down.”

 

Nick scowled, but Renard just smiled back at him.

 

Hank was still laughing – so Nick elbowed him in the side to shut him up.

 

“Hang on,” he said, “surely they want more than just one person from each department for this thing?” he asked. If he was going down, then he certainly wasn’t going to do it alone.

 

“It would be preferable,” Renard agreed.

 

Nick turned to Hank. “Partner,” he said.

 

Hank finally stopped the last of his laughter. “What?” he asked, eyes widening.

 

Nick grinned at him. “Partner,” he repeated, giving both Wu and the Captain a significant look.

 

“Right then,” Wu agreed. “I’ll just go add Hank’s name to our list.”

 

“What? No!” Hank said. He turned betrayed eyes to Nick, who just crossed his arms, smirking at his friend.

 

“Partner,” he repeated, though his eyes clearly said that it was payback for all Hank’s laughter.

 

Groaning, Hank dropped his face into his hands.

 

Nick turned thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “if this is for charity, and the Mayor wants to make sure that every department’s involved, then don’t you think it would look really good for us if our Captain got involved?” He turned an innocent look towards Renard.

 

The Captain simply stared back at him.

 

“I mean, as our Captain, you really should be setting the example, right?” Nick asked.

 

“As Captain,” Renard replied, “I get to decide who does what. Unfortunately, I am far too busy to be involved in the event. But your dedication to it is noted.” Turning on his heel, he headed back to his office.

 

Groaning, Nick slumped down into his seat. “How’d I get chosen, anyway?” he asked, glancing around the bullpen. Slowly, seeing that the detective had yet to go on a killing spree in response to what they’d dobbed him in for, his colleagues began to look at him.

 

“Easy,” Officer Betty Paella, who was fairly new but had slipped into place right away, said. Only five foot four, she was a tiny dynamite with blonde hair, brown eyes, and a sense of humour that was already well-known. “We just voted on who would look best in a wet shirt.” She grinned at him. “Can’t have our representatives letting down the department, right?”

 

Sighing, Nick leant his head back against his chair. “So how’d I get picked?” he repeated.

 

Laughing, Paella patted the top of his head as she walked past. “You won the vote,” she replied.

 

Deciding that arguing would only make things worse, Nick simply made a face.

 

“I still think the Captain should be involved,” he said. “Particularly if you voted on who would wear a wet shirt the best – for someone who sits around all day, he has a remarkably sculpted chest.”

 

There were a few choked-off sputters, and Nick ran his words back through his mind, grimacing slightly as he realised how they sounded.

 

“Well,” said Wu, “ _someone’s_ been paying attention to the Captain’s physique!”

 

Around them, the bullpen responded with even more laughter.

 

 

*

 

 

Monroe also laughed, when Nick lamented the whole sorry tale to him that evening. Rosalee was nice enough to try and hide her laughter – but Nick saw. He knew. His friends were rejoicing in his upcoming humiliation.

 

 

*

 

 

The day of the Annual _Wet Shirts for Charity_ event arrived far too quickly for Nick’s peace of mind. As usual, the actual event was held out in the park, a large, temporary stage having been erected. Everyone attending had to pay a fee to enter the viewing area – all proceeds going to Charity.

 

Watching the crowds arrive, Nick was certain that there were more people there than at any previous year’s event. If Monroe had let slip that the resident grimm was going to be in this one…

 

“Ready?” Wu asked, grinning gleefully as he approached where Nick and Hank were standing. They were huddled to the side of the stage, along with all the other unfortunate victims who had also been picked out for the event.

 

Nick could see detectives and officers from all the other police divisions, along with some guys from the fire department and emergency services. There was quite a line up. It was slightly comforting, as he hoped that meant there would be less attention on him.

 

Ignoring Wu – really, the sergeant was taking far too much pleasure in teasing them about this – Nick plucked irritably at his shirt. It was the only white t-shirt he had (those were the rules apparently, no wearing dark colours to try and hide anything), and was slightly smaller than he would have preferred.

 

“Gentlemen!” Turning, Nick saw the Mayor approaching, Captain Renard and a few others by her side. Renard smirked at his men. Nick glared back.

 

“Thank you so much for your dedication and willingness to – put yourselves out there, as it were – for charity,” the Mayor continued. She smiled brightly at them. “Now, I’m sure you’re all eager to find out exactly how this will run.

 

“We’ll start by introducing you each one-by-one, and you’ll head out onto the stage and line up, shirts dry for the moment,” she chuckled lightly. “Once everyone has been introduced and is on stage, our eager volunteers will tip a bucket of water over each of you, and then we’ll get four of you to step forward at a time, and the crowd will vote as to who stays and who gets to leave.

 

“It’s a simple system,” she explained, “in order for someone to stay on the stage, the crowd needs to raise at least $1000. If we find,” and here she paused to give them all an appreciative look, “that we end up with most of you still on stage, we will repeat the process, with the crowd having to raise another $1000 for each one of you they want to remain.

 

“This will continue until we end up with our final one or two – some years they just can’t decide.

 

“Once you’ve left the stage, you’re free to change into a dry shirt,” she added, “but I’m afraid our finalists will have to remain in their wet shirts while the crowd is given a chance to pay for photos with them. Which of course, they will bid for – with the highest three bidders winning a photo each.”

 

There was some shifting through the group, and Nick repressed the urge to turn and run. He was sure that hadn’t been on the agenda in previous years!

 

“Once more, thank you for your dedication,” the Mayor said. “It’s so lovely to see so many of those who protect our city willing to take part. I’m positive that, with the proceeds from today, we’ll be able to build the new children’s wing in the hospital that we so sorely need.”

 

Well, Nick admitted to himself, she was definitely a good politician, bringing that up like that.

 

Giving them all another smile, the Mayor moved away to take her place up on the stage.

 

The sound of the crowd had grown and Nick felt his palms getting sweaty. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to do this.

 

“I can’t believe you got me into this!” Hank hissed at him.

 

Nick laughed. “Well,” he said, “ _someone_ should have been more sympathetic when I was roped into it!”

 

 

 

*

 

 

Horrifyingly, when the event finally started, and the Mayor began to call out names – introducing them along with a small spiel the poor victims colleagues must have put together – Nick realised that she was calling out the police department first.

 

He shared a painful look with Hank.

 

“Detective Hank Griffin,” the Mayor called out, voice ringing clearly over the crowd, “is, as I’m sure you’ll all agree with me, a very fine Detective who we are pleased to have in our police force! Rumour has it he’s currently single, secretly a romantic, and loyal to a fault. Please welcome Detective Griffin!”

 

Giving Nick a last despairing look, Hank made his way up onto the stage.

 

“And just to prove that the fine Detective is not alone,” the Mayor continued, “we have the pleasure today of also introducing you to his partner on the force. Detective Nick Burkhardt, who, I’ve been told, was unanimously voted as the one most likely to wear a wet shirt best by his colleagues in Robbery and Homicide. I’m sure you’ll agree with me that we can see why they did so. Please welcome Detective Burkhardt!”

 

Gritting his teeth, Nick jogged up the steps onto the stage. The one comfort he had was that Hank was already there. Moving over to stand next to his partner, Nick gazed over the crowds, trying not to notice anyone’s faces. He really didn’t want to know later on who had seen him like this.

 

The Mayor continued, introducing others, as those already on the stage stood stiffly, false smiles plastered on their faces as they tried not to fidget.

 

Despite his best efforts, Nick noticed Monroe lurking near the back of the crowd. Eyes narrowing, Nick shot a glare his friend’s way that had a small ripple of unease passing through the crowd.

 

“Easy, Nick,” Hank muttered. “Last thing we need is a panic. What did you see?”

 

“Monroe.”

 

Hank choked off a laugh. “Okay,” he said, “I promise to help you get back at him later.”

 

“And at least half the eisbiber lodge,” Nick whined. It had the benefit that he lost his intimidating glare, so the crowd breathed easier, but Nick was feeling pretty miserable.

 

As his eyes scanned over the crowd, he noticed more and more people he knew. He was fairly sure _someone_ had sent out an alert to the wesen community. There were far too many familiar faces arrayed before him for it to be coincidence.

 

“Hey, just think,” Hank said, “maybe after this they’ll stop being so afraid of you.”

 

Nick turned his head to glare at Hank, but his partner just grinned back at him.

 

Which was when Nick heard it.

 

“And finally, last but certainly not least,” the Mayor called out, “a late entrant into this very special event, but one I’m sure you’ll agree is a great bonus for us! Captain Sean Renard!”

 

Nick’s head snapped around to where he could see the Captain, organising security for the event. The Captain froze. Back stiffening. Oh, Nick thought, he hadn’t been expecting that!

 

“Captain Renard,” the Mayor continued, casting a glance in the Captain’s direction that quite plainly said that he _would_ be getting up on that stage, “has long been an example of the tireless dedication, hard work and sacrifice that we receive from our police department every day. Not one who is content to sit on the sidelines and merely watch his people work, Captain Renard is often noted for being out there with them and leading by example.

 

“So it is that, once more, he leads by example in joining us for this auspicious event. Don’t let his normal suit and tie fool you – we are _very_ pleased to have the Captain involved this year. Please give a warm welcome to Captain Renard!”

 

Nick saw the Captain stiffen, before shrugging off his suit jacket, tugging off his tie, tossing both to Wu, and then heading up onto the stage as though he’d always planned on doing so.

 

For a moment, Nick envied the Captain his incredible poise. Then he realised that, unlike everyone else, the Captain wasn’t wearing a white t-shirt – he was wearing a white dress shirt.

 

Unconsciously, Nick licked his lips, oh, this was going to be good.

 

Turning to watch the Captain come to a halt at the other end of the line, Nick grinned.

 

“You are having far too much fun with this,” Hank warned him.

 

“What?” Nick asked. “You can’t say you aren’t happy to see our dear Captain up here with us!”

 

A soft chuckle was Hank’s first response. Before he spoke. “Just remember who he’s going to blame for the Mayor calling him up like that,” Hank replied.

 

Nick grimaced, remembering, quite clearly, how well, at times, the Captain was at indicating his displeasure to his men.

 

“Hey,” he protested, “I didn’t say anything to her!”

 

“Perhaps not,” Hank agreed, “but her choice of words quite clearly indicates that, somehow, she heard about your comments to him about setting an example.”

 

Groaning, Nick forced himself to tune back into what the Mayor was saying. Despite that, his eyes kept darting back towards where the Captain stood. A rush of anticipation flooded through him.

 

“And now,” the Mayor was saying, “without any further ado, let’s get these men’s shirts wet!”

 

The crowd roared in approval.

 

A line of women entered the stage – from the opposite side to that the men had started from, which meant that they entered on Hank and Nick’s side. Each one was carrying a large bucket of water.

 

Nick grimaced, already imagining the cold as it slid over him.

 

The first woman stopped before the first man, grinned at the crowd, then tossed her bucket of water over her victim.

 

The crowd went wild.

 

Hearing Hank spluttering beside him, Nick gritted his teeth, awaiting his turn. Officer Paella came to a halt before him.

 

“Detective,” she said, voice all sweetly innocent, but the spark in her eyes giving her away.

 

Nick rolled his eyes. “Should I bend down for you?” he asked.

 

“Only if you want to kneel,” she teased back, before tossing the water over his head.

 

Instinctively shutting his eyes, Nick sputtered as the cold water washed over him. Instantly, his shirt clung to his chest uncomfortably, plastered against him.

 

Paella headed off, another woman following to drench the guy to Nick’s left.

 

By the time the women reached the end of the line of men, Nick was fairly sure his nipples could be clearly seen through the fabric of his shirt – reacting to the cold of the breeze brushing against the wet material.

 

Still, that didn’t stop Nick from turning to watch gleefully as a bucket of water was dumped over the Captain’s head (thankfully, they’d chosen a tall woman with massive heels to undertake the task of trying to throw the water over the Captain’s head, as Nick was sure that someone like Paella would have had no chance at actually succeeding).

 

The water cascaded down the Captain’s face and chest. It plastered his hair to his head, dripped off the ends of his eyelashes, and sculpted his shirt to his body. A shirt that was far thinner than the t-shirts everyone else was wearing and really, Nick thought as his tongue wet his lips, the Captain could almost be wearing no shirt considering how much of his chest was visible through the wet material.

 

The crowd, who had been incredibly enthusiastic throughout, went absolutely nuts as they realised the entire row of men was now soaked.

 

“And now,” said the Mayor, “it’s your chance to bid for who stays on this stage!” More cheers. “Our first four are all from the Portland Police Department.” Nick tuned her out, until he heard his name, at which point he reluctantly stepped forward (having to drag his eyes away from the Captain in order to do so).

 

Moving to the front of the stage with three others, one of whom was Hank, Nick tried hard not to look at the eager faces of the crowd as they stared at the men’s chests.

 

Then the bidding started.

 

All four men were quickly declared safe, the requisite $1000 having been raised for each one.

 

And down the line it went.

 

Thankful to move back to his place in line (although he would have preferred to have left the stage altogether), Nick distracted himself by watching his Captain’s reactions.

 

Unsurprisingly, the Captain was bid on to stay – in fact, the entire line of men made it through the first round of bidding.

 

Before starting the second round, the Mayor decided that they needed to be soaked once more – just in case any of their shirts were starting to dry.

 

Nick shivered as the water washed over him, but eagerly watched the new wash of water turn his Captain’s shirt practically transparent.

 

The second round of bidding was moved through, a couple of the men managing to make it off the stage.

 

Then they were soaked once more. Before the third round started.

 

And on it went.

 

Each time the water was dumped over his head, Nick glared playfully at Paella, who was taking far too much pleasure in being the one to do so to him.

 

Each time the Captain was soaked once more, Nick couldn’t help but let his eyes trace over those muscles. Oh, he’d known the Captain was ripped – he’d said as much when trying to get the man involved, but there was a difference between a vague knowledge and a slight sighting and being able to watch the drops of water running lovingly down his Captain’s chest.

 

Nick wondered what it would be like to touch those muscles. To have those strong arms wrapped around him. He shivered – but not from the cold.

 

By the time they hit the fifth round of bidding, they were down to only a few men left. Nick was still there, as was Hank, the Captain, and three others.

 

The benefit of less people on stage, Nick had soon found out, was that they were encouraged to step closer together. Viewing his Captain’s wet chest from closer up was definitely worth everything Nick had to put up with in being up there.

 

With only six men left, the Mayor had them stepping forward one by one and doing a slow turn, to showcase both fronts and backs. Nick avidly watched as his Captain stepped forward, eyes hungrily tracing over that defined back, watching the flex of muscles as he moved.

 

Then they were down to four left, and into round six of the bidding. Nick’s jeans were clinging uncomfortably to him, and he was thinking of lodging a complaint that it was meant to be a wet _shirt_ competition, not a wet pants one.

 

Letting his eyes drag down his Captain’s body, Nick felt a grin tugging at his lips as he noticed the way the Captain’s pants were clinging to his thighs. Well, he supposed he could put up with wet jeans if he got to look at that while he did so.

 

Raising his eyes, Nick caught his Captain’s gaze. At first he blushed, instinctively glancing away, before turning back in order to smirk at the other man.

 

_Ha ha,_ his smirk said, _you had to be involved in this too!_

 

The look the Captain gave him in response made a rush of heat wash over Nick and he almost stumbled – despite the fact that he was standing still. He couldn’t quite have described the look, other than to say that there was a promise in there.

 

Somehow, Nick, the Captain, and one of the firemen made it through to the next round of bidding – Hank heaving a relieved sigh as he was finally allowed to leave the stage. He gave Nick’s shoulder a friendly slap as he passed him.

 

“Just keep smiling,” he teased.

 

Shaking his head, Nick waited patiently for the soaking he knew was coming, before following the Mayor’s directions to step forward, turn, walk this way and that. He grimaced, wet jeans were _not_ comfortable to walk in, but tried to focus on the fact that, surely, it couldn’t last that much longer; and soon he’d get to watch his Captain walk around the stage instead.

 

Eyes carefully memorising every flex of muscle as the Captain moved, every drop of water that shifted on his clothing, Nick almost didn’t hear the results.

 

He and the Captain were through.

 

The fireman left with a laugh, bow to the crowd, and companionable nod to the two remaining victims.

 

“Well, well, well,” the Mayor called out. “It seems we are down now to just two men. Both from the Portland Police Department, and both from the Robbery and Homicide division. The question now is – do they both make it through this round? Or does one of them get to leave?”

 

The wild cheering of the crowd broke through Nick’s contemplation of the water trickling down his Captain’s neck. Glancing over at the crowd, he forced a smile – more of a grimace, really – as quickly people got together to try and pool their money.

 

Glancing back at the Captain, Nick noticed those sharp eyes sweeping over him. He resisted the urge to shift in place or fold his arms over his chest.

 

“Somehow,” the Mayor called, as the bidding was tallied up, “I’m not surprised!” She laughed. “Our final two men for the day – Detective Burkhardt and Captain Renard – you’ve bid them both through this round!”

 

The crowd screamed in approval.

 

Looking out over the crowd, Nick noticed someone move towards the back. He couldn’t have said exactly what it was that drew his attention, but there was something… he narrowed his eyes. The man woged – hundjager.

 

Quickly scanning the rest of the crowd, Nick saw a number of other hundjager, scattered throughout and now converging towards the stage.

 

He glanced at Renard out of the corner of his eyes. The alert tension in the other man’s frame let him know that the Captain had also noticed their party crashers.

 

Letting his eyes sweep over the stage, Nick looked for a weapon. Something to use against the hundjager that were quickly making their way towards them. Around and throughout the crowd, he saw officers and detectives coming alert, either noticing the men pushing their way through the crowd, or the silent signals the Captain and Detective up on the stage were giving off.

 

The Mayor hadn’t noticed.

 

Which was perhaps good, Nick thought, as it meant that she hadn’t given anything away to the hundjagers, but they’d need to get her off the stage fairly quickly.

 

Five hundjagers reached the front of the crowd, before surging forward and up onto the stage. The Mayor gasped, her instructions on bidding for a photo with the two men cut off as she stared at the intruders.

 

One of the them snarled. “I will enjoy killing you!” he declared.

 

Heaving a sigh, Nick realised he was going to have to fight in his wet jeans. If walking in wet jeans was uncomfortable, then he was sure that fighting in them was even more so. Still, needs must…

 

He stepped forward at the same time as the Captain, the two of them moving perfectly in sync. The hundjagers rushed forward. Ducking beneath the strike of one, Nick used his elbow to drive the air from its lungs, while kicking out at another.

 

Reaching out, he grabbed the hundjager the Captain tossed his way, twisting his elbow into the man’s temple, before pushing the unconscious attacker aside.

 

Driving his shoulder into another attacker, Nick propelled the hundjager towards the Captain – who neatly knocked him out.

 

Kicking out at a hundjager just climbing onto the stage, Nick felt his boot hit the man’s face. Eyes rolling back in his head, the hundjager dropped down onto the ground.

 

Striking out with his left hand, Nick neatly caught a hundjager in the back of the neck, knocking him unconscious. The Captain let go of the man’s arms, letting the unconscious body sink to the ground.

 

Around them, the crowd were half-panicking, half-watching in awe as the two men quickly and efficiently cut down their attackers.

 

Seeing their numbers dwindling, the few remaining hundjager turned, heading back into the crowd. Nick followed them. He stumbled as he hit the ground, turning it into a roll that he sprang up out of – plunging into the crowd after the fleeing hunddjager.

 

He saw Monroe tackling one to his left. Hank calmly laying one out to his right. Which left just one. Leaping forward, Nick tackled the final hundjager to the ground, roughly dragging the wesen’s arms up behind his back as he began to read him his rights.

 

Officer Paella hurried over, handing Nick some handcuffs, before taking the hundjager off his hands.

 

Pushing himself to his feet, Nick brushed his hands off against his jeans – noting that the wet denim was now smeared with mud and grass stains – as was his wet, white shirt. Movement not far away caught Nick’s eye, and he turned, gaze landing on Viktor.

 

The other man scowled back at him, appearing thoroughly frustrated that his plan of killing the bastard prince and the grimm in front of all these people hadn’t worked. Then he smirked.

 

“You may have stopped them this time,” Vikor said, motioning towards the rounded up hundjager, “but just how long do you think my bastard cousin will retain authority or respect after this spectacle? It was a pleasure to watch him be humiliated so.”

 

Nick stared at him for a moment, before he burst out laughing.

 

Startled, Viktor took a step backwards, before stopping himself.

 

“You’re kidding, right?” Nick asked, managing to quiet his laughter down into soft chuckles. He gave Viktor a pitying look. “I mean, I know it would be rather humiliating for you to have to go through something like this,” he gestured back towards the stage, “but then, not everyone is able to pull off the wet shirt look. Something that, quite obviously, isn’t a problem for your cousin.” He gave Viktor a condescending look. “Just because you would have reason to be ashamed,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, Sean definitely has _nothing_ to be ashamed of.” He used the Captain’s first name deliberately, in the hope that it would anger Viktor even further.

 

Then, turning on his heel, he deliberately put his back to Viktor, striding back towards the stage.

 

The Captain was holding court from there – efficiently organising his people, and appearing completely calm and collected, despite his wet, see-through shirt and clinging pants.

 

Hopping up onto the stage, Nick approached him. Catching sight of the grimm, the Captain gave him a slightly incredulous look. Nick blinked in confusion, before following the Captain’s gaze to his clothing and being reminded that he’d managed to get mud and grass stains all over himself. He shrugged sheepishly.

 

The Captain turned back to giving out orders.

 

 

*

 

 

It wasn’t long after that that they were able to leave the event, the photo sessions having thankfully – in both men’s minds – been cancelled due to the excitement of the attack.

 

The Mayor was thoroughly appreciative of not only Nick and Renard’s quick and efficient work, but the excellent response by all those present (which was basically everyone from the police department who could be there – after all, who’d give up the chance to see Detectives Burkhardt and Griffin in wet shirts?).

 

So Nick went home. He stripped out of his wet clothing, had a shower (and may or may not have thought about his Captain’s wet chest whilst doing so), and then settled in for a quiet evening.

 

It all ran smoothly up until he flipped on the TV to catch the end of the news.

 

 

“ _Stunning events occurred this afternoon at the Annual ‘Wet Shirts for Charity’ event,”_ the announcer declared. _“Where the end of the event was disrupted by a violent attack led against our winning ‘wet shirt’ contestants!”_ The image cut away from the announcer to show Nick and the Captain up on the stage, fighting the hundjagers. Nick winced as he saw the way his clothing stuck to his skin, moulding to each movement.

 

Then his eyes landed on the Captain’s figure, and he forgot to be embarrassed – watching the play of those muscles under the wet clothing was entirely captivating.

 

“ _Captain Renard and Detective Burkhardt,”_ the announcer explained, _“both of the Portland Police Department, showed great skill and efficiency in defending themselves and defeating their attackers._

 

“ _But that was perhaps not the most interesting occurrence of the event – even if attendees were all in agreement that the fight showed off both men’s physiques to perfection._

 

The footage cut to a scene of all the men lined up at the beginning.

 

“ _The event started with a record number of participants – a delightful treat for the crowd, who were extremely appreciative of the offerings.”_

 

In the background, Nick could hear the roar of the crowd as a few different images of the men – first with dry shirts, then wet, were displayed.

 

“ _A surprise entrant this year was Captain Sean Renard,”_ the camera zoomed in on the Captain. Nick swallowed as he watched the water dripping down the Captain’s chest. _“But perhaps more surprising, was the obvious interest in the Captain displayed by Detective Burkhardt.”_

 

Nick gaped as the camera moved to show him, staring across at the Captain. The image of him on the screen licked his lips. He hadn’t look at the Captain like that! Had he?

 

“ _But Detective Burkhardt wasn’t the only one appreciating the view,”_ the announcer continued, “ _keen eyes will notice that Captain Renard could barely keep his own eyes off the Detective.”_

 

Nick’s eyes widened as he took that in.

 

“ _The question on everyone’s minds now being – are these two incredibly good-looking men in a relationship together? Or do the rest of us still have some hope of snagging one of them?”_

 

At that point, it cut to a view of the crowd after the event, the announcer interviewing anyone who would stop to talk to her.

 

“ _It was so sweet!”_ a young woman gushed, _“they could barely keep their eyes off each other! They’re either together, or will be soon,”_ she declared.

 

“ _The way they fought together suggested a long history of trust between them,”_ a studious-looking man explained, _“you can’t fight like that with someone unless you trust them. Completely. They knew what the other was going to do before they did it.”_

 

“ _I heard the Detective telling off some guy in the crowd,”_ an older woman said, smiling brightly just at the thought of it. _“It was so sweet. It sounded like the other guy was related to the Captain somehow and was being rather rude about the whole thing. But the young detective put him in his place all right – and boy was he right! Captain Renard has_ nothing _to be ashamed of!”_

 

The camera moved to show a group of teenagers, both male and female, standing together in a group and giggling. _“What do you think of the suggested relationship between Captain Renard and Detective Burkhardt?”_ the announcer asked.

 

The teens shared a look, grinning, before turning to face the camera. _“We ship it!”_ they declared.

 

Shaking his head, Nick let his hands come to rest over his face. He could barely believe what he was hearing.

 

 

 

*

 

 

Things just got worse from there.

 

Nick entered the precinct the next day to the expected ribbing from his colleagues – but also to a gossip rag prominently displayed on his desk. The front cover featured two images posed side-by-side – one of Nick staring to his left with a longing look on his face, and one of the Captain, looking to his right, face placid, but a smile hinting at the edges of his lips.

 

_Star-Crossed Lovers!_ Was splashed across the picture, with below that, _Captain Renard and Detective Burkhardt – inside their secret relationship!_

 

Groaning, Nick sank down into his seat.

 

 

*

 

 

That afternoon, Wu cheerfully handed Nick a number of letters. Like all general mail received at the station they had been opened and checked. Flicking through them, Nick saw an array of letters. From congratulations cards, to heart-felt encouragement to act on his feelings, and commiseration for his difficulty in being in love with his commanding officer. There were even a few drawings of the two of them.

 

Blinking, Nick stared down at them.

 

“Make sure you show those to the Captain,” Wu said gleefully, “they were addressed to him, too!”

 

 

 

*

 

 

The Captain took the letters rather calmly, all things considered. He read them through thoughtfully, face inscrutable, before putting them aside.

 

Shifting from foot to foot before the Captain’s desk, Nick finally blurted out a, “Sorry!”

 

Renard looked up at him, raising one eyebrow. “Why?” he asked.

 

Nick gaped back at him. “For, you know, staring at you and making everyone think we’re together.”

 

Leaning back in his seat, Renard clasped his hands before him, examining Nick carefully. “Are you apologising,” he asked, “because you were staring, or because of what it caused?”

 

Nick opened and closed his mouth a few times.

 

“Are you apologising,” Renard continued, “because you wish this wasn’t happening, or because you think that I wish it wasn’t?”

 

Still Nick found it impossible to answer.

 

Pushing himself to his feet, Renard moved around the desk, stepping into Nick’s personal space. He leant close to the detective’s ear. “I don’t mind you staring,” he said, “so long as you let me stare back.”

 

A shiver ran down Nick’s spine and he swayed towards the Captain. His mouth went dry and he could feel his heart racing in his chest.

 

Stepping back, Renard smiled at him, before taking a seat.

 

 

 

*

 

 

That night, Nick ended up at his Captain’s place. The Captain opened the door after his first knock, motioning him inside.

 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Nick shuffled in place, glancing around.

 

“So...” he said, voice trailing off as he realised he hadn’t really thought things through beyond turning up at the Captain’s.

 

Smirking at him, Sean motioned the grimm further into the house.

 

“Was there something I could help you with?” he asked.

 

Which – yes – that was the problem, because suddenly Nick could think of hundreds of things he’d like his Captain’s help with.

 

But eventually he managed to get out, “You said you don’t mind me staring,” he said, “so, I, uh, I was hoping I could so some more. Staring, that is.”

 

“Just staring?” Sean asked.

 

And no, Nick didn’t want to just look.

 

 

 

*

 

 

A few weeks after the whole event, Sean was at a Press Conference regarding their latest case. Having delivered his prepared statement, he opened the floor for questions.

 

“Captain Renard,” a young woman asked, bouncing to her feet at his nod, “is there any truth to the rumours that you’re in a relationship with Detective Burkhardt?”

 

“I don’t believe that has any bearing on this case,” he replied smoothly, before indicating another reporter.

 

 

*

 

 

It kept happening.

 

Every press conference – someone would ask about Nick. About their relationship (was there one?).

 

Until finally Sean admitted that ‘Detective Burkhardt is doing well’.

 

There was a fresh influx of letters to the station.

 

 

*

 

 

Then people started stopping Nick in the street or during cases to let him know that they ‘fully supported him and the Captain’. The barista at his local coffee shop. The mechanic when he took his car in for a service. Three teenage fuchsbaus and a gruff older lowen.

 

 

*

 

 

Two weeks later, Nick was tugging on his tie as Sean pushed his hands away, smoothing down the wrinkles Nick had managed to put into it.

 

“I don’t know that I would have agreed to come if I’d realised it’d be like this,” Nick grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his suit.

 

“Relax,” Sean told him. “And remember, you did agree.”

 

Nick pouted. “You don’t play fair,” he replied, “I couldn’t exactly think at the time.”

 

Remembering just what they’d been doing when he’d asked the grimm to attend this event with him, Sean smirked.

 

 

*

 

 

Cameras went off as they entered the event.

 

And when they exited.

 

They made it into the tabloids again the next day.

 

 

 

*

 

 

The eisbiber lodge kept sending them baked goods and handicrafts.

 

 

*

 

 

“I have _got_ to show you something!” Monroe declared, practically bounding in place as he motioned Nick forward towards the computer. Pushing the grimm down into a chair, Monroe gleefully maximised his web browser.

 

Nick blinked, staring at it.

 

Then he started to read.

 

He blushed.

 

Stuttered.

 

Pushed himself away from the desk and turned to Monroe with a betrayed look on his face. “What?” he asked.

 

“Fanfiction!” Monroe declared. “You and the Captain – you’ve officially made it into the ranks of those immortalised in the writings of eager fans throughout Portland.”

 

Nick stared at him in horror.

 

 

*

 

 

“I don’t know,” Sean told him later that evening. “Some of these authors do seem to have some interesting ideas.” He gave Nick a contemplative look.

 

 

 

*

 

 

It turned out Sean was right – some of those ideas were _brilliant_.

 


End file.
